


(Will You Still Love Me) Tomorrow

by talkingismylife



Series: escape (the piña colada song) verse [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, But Brian likes it anyways, Declarations Of Love, Freddie is a ride or die but not a prison bitch, Idiots in Love, M/M, Roger is dumb, Roger woos old women and he likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingismylife/pseuds/talkingismylife
Summary: Roger blew through the front door, kicking his shoes off willy-nilly and chucking his book bag in the general vicinity of his bedroom. Completely ignoring Freddie at the dining room table--which was indecently rude, in Freddie's opinion--he marched his way into the sitting area and threw himself prostrate onto the floor. Smushing his face into the hand-me-down Persian rug that Freddie had bartered for from the sketchy stall next to their's in Kensington Market, he fought back the innate and horrible urge to cry."I take it the date went well?" Freddie called over the rim of his tea."Eat glass," Roger said into the plush carpet. It smelled thickly of dust, cigarettes, and faintly, sour beer. Disgusting.Or, someone tell Romeo he shouldn't be drunk during the balcony scene





	(Will You Still Love Me) Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, there is no need to read any of the previous installments before this one. Technically, this falls before even _Escape (The Piña Colada Song)_ as it tells us how Brian and Roger finally get together. At this point, assume that I have no idea what a timeline even is, or how to figure out how to write around one.

Roger blew through the front door, kicking his shoes off willy-nilly and chucking his book bag in the general vicinity of his bedroom. Completely ignoring Freddie at the dining room table--which was indecently rude, in Freddie's opinion--he marched his way into the sitting area and threw himself prostrate onto the floor. Smushing his face into the hand-me-down Persian rug that Freddie had bartered for from the sketchy stall next to their's in Kensington Market, he fought back the innate and horrible urge to cry. 

"I take it the date went well?" Freddie called over the rim of his tea. 

"Eat glass," Roger said into the plush carpet. It smelled thickly of dust, cigarettes, and faintly, sour beer. Disgusting. He groaned. 

He twisted his head so that his nose was no longer pressed into he carpet. He wanted to lay there until he died and his bones crumbled to join the dust-bunnies under the couch. Maybe if he were lucky, he'd suffocate. He moved his face again, smashing his nose harder into the floor. Death felt like a welcome reprieve in the face of his humiliating spectacle earlier. Just the mere thought of his stupidity made him flush. God, he was an idiot sometimes. 

Pepper the cat patted her way to him, the bell on her collar jingling sweetly. 

"You still love me, right Pep?" he grumbled into the floor, peeking at her from the corner of his eye. Pepper began to lick her paw, ignoring him. "Typical." 

His view of the cat was quickly hidden by Freddie's feet. 

"You have hairy toes," he announced, closing his eyes so as to no longer be subjected to the sight. Above him, Freddie gasped, indignant. 

"Well, there's no need to be such a _bitch_ , darling." 

Roger rolled his eyes. 

Pepper moved from around Freddie and crawled delicately up to curl herself up on the slim expanse of Roger's back. For the briefest of moments, warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of being chosen to be shown such affection. The feeling quickly vanished when Pepper began kneading her claws into his skin, causing him to hiss. 

"Pepper, dearest, don't maim the poor lad," Freddie cooed sarcastically as he bent over to untangle her paws from Roger's silk shirt. "He's doing a good enough job himself." 

"Be nice to me, I've had a shit day," Roger whined, screwing up his face. "Everything's gone wrong. Just leave me here to die." 

"How gauche, having a dead body in the sitting room," Freddie sighed, pulling Pepper closer for a cuddle. "We'd never be able to host a party again." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the echo of the traffic outside and the near-silent hum of Pepper purring. Roger inelegantly attempted to suffocate himself again. 

"Ugh, fine," Freddie sighed as he threw himself onto the couch above Roger. "Tell me what has made you so upset." 

Roger groaned. "You're going to laugh at me." 

"Yes, yes, most likely I will. But you knew this would happen when you decided to throw yourself this little pity party, so I refuse to feel bad." He rearranged himself in such a way that he could still look at Roger while lying down. "Tell Dr. Freddie all your troubles." 

Roger didn't speak for a moment. Freddie was about to press further when he sighed deeply and rolled over enough for his face to be free of the carpet. "Brian didn't realize it was a date." 

That was not what Freddie was expecting, if he were to be completely honest. 

"What do you mean, he didn't realize it was a date?" 

Roger flopped over onto his back with a huff, reaching up to knuckle his left eye. "I mean, he invited _Mary_ and then spent half the time flirting with her and discussing their plans for a weekend getaway." 

"Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh_." 

Roger bit his lip. Freddie noticed, cocking an eyebrow. 

"C'mon, Rog, tell me the rest." 

"There's nothing else to say," Roger grumbled, mulish but blushing. He was avoiding his eyes, choosing instead to stare up at the ceiling. 

"Bullshit. Tell me." 

"I'm serious! There's nothing--"

"Bullshit," Freddie said, sing song. "You can't lie to me, your _best friend_ , who knows everything about you. So tell me." 

"I hate you." 

"Lies and slander, dear. Now, fess up, or I'll call Mary and have her tell me everything." 

Cover his face with his hands, Roger let out a long and pained groan before confessing. "Brian thinks I'm too immature for a long-term relationship. Says I'm not 'boyfriend' material, and that I wouldn't know what to do in a relationship." 

Freddie paused. "Really? That seems rather... _harsh_." 

Roger scrunched up his face. He wasn't crying. He just got some dust in his eyes. He coughed into his fist, trying to clear the lump from his throat. 

"It's fine," he said. "I knew it was a long shot, anyways. Like, it's clear that he was always going to be out of my league. I just assumed, y'know, because he said yes to getting a drink, that he was at least somewhat interested." 

"Darling," Freddie cooed, twisting so that his arms were outstretched lovingly. "You need a cuddle." 

Feeling rather like a child, Roger peeled himself off the floor and crawled up onto the couch, spooning himself up tight against Freddie's side. Freddie carefully tangled one hand into Roger's hair, scritching his nails against his scalp. 

"You're not too immature for a relationship," Freddie sighed. "After all, you and Dominique dated for what, two years? If you were too immature for a relationship, then Dom _for sure_ wouldn't have wasted all that time on you." 

Roger snorted. "I don't want to talk about Dom." 

"Well, then, what do you want to talk about?" 

"Nothing," he grumbled. "I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again." 

Freddie rolled his eyes, pushing Roger off him so as to sit up, ignoring Roger's indignant whimper. "And all of you say _I'm_ the drama queen." 

"I'm not being dramatic! I'm being _realistic_."

"Roger, you just told me you want to die because Brian doesn't think you'd be good to take home to Mummy," Freddie said bluntly, piercing him with a rather unimpressed look. "That's not realistic." 

Roger covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow and mumbled something too low for Freddie to make out. 

"Speak up, asshole, you know I hate when you mumble." 

"I said, it's probably better this way, because this way we won't ruin Queen." 

Of all the things Roger could have said, that was the last thing Freddie ever would have imagined. In all the years that he had known Roger, he had never once been hesitant in regards to his painfully large crush on Brian. Even when he was still with Dominique--and wasn't that an experience in and of itself--he had been mooning over Brian. It was always "Brian this" and "Brian that"; you'd have thought he'd hung the moon in the sky just for him. Freddie had no doubt in his mind that if Brian suggested he quit Queen in exchange for his hand in marriage, Roger would be halfway to Cartier before Brian could finish his sentence. 

"I...I cannot believe you've given up so easily," Freddie said in disbelief. "One bout of miscommunication and that's it? You're done? No more pining after Brian?" 

Roger flushed deeply, moving his arm so as to scowl up at Freddie. "You weren't there! It was so humiliating, to hear him go on and on about how much they liked each other, and that maybe stupid, awful Mary is the right choice. Or, or, to hear how I wouldn't know the first thing about dating, anyway, considering the last relationship I was in ended so horribly!" 

Suddenly, the entire mess was beginning to make more sense. Freddie pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. "Roger, what did you say to Brian." 

The face Roger made wasn't entire dissimilar to that of a beached fish. "What the _fuck_ does that mean, Fred?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. What did you say to Brian to make him lash out at you? You had to say something."

"Why do you even assume I had to say something wrong? I was a perfect gentleman!" 

"Oh yeah, sure, I can only just imagine you sitting there, watching them hold hands--"

"He had his arm around her shoulders," Roger scowled. 

"Okay, his arm around her shoulders. And let me guess, Brian was giving her googly eyes?" 

Roger whimpered, covering his face again. 

"And then what happened, darling?" Freddie cooed, petting at the side of Roger's face. 

"She went to the bathroom," he grunted. "And Brian told me he was thinking of asking her to be his girlfriend." 

"Mhmmmm." 

"And I told him that I was happy for him." 

Freddie tapped his face in the mockery of a slap. "Bullshit. What did you say?"

"That's what I said!" 

"I don't believe you!" 

"Fucking believe, cuz it's true!"

"I know _everything_ about you, you stupid piece of shit," Freddie snapped, reaching down to brutally twist a nipple. Roger howled; Freddie dangerously avoided an elbow to the face. "What did you say!" 

They scrabbled at each other, digging their fingers into the other's ribs and pinching any open skin. Freddie quickly rolled over to pin Roger against the couch, holding him down so as to brutally and mercilessly taze his sides. Roger thrashed, yelping and shrieking before finally, he gave in. 

"Jesus Christ, Fred, fine! I told him that if he was happy with her than I'd be happy but that if he thinks she's the one he's wrong," Roger snarled, still attempting to buck himself free. Freddie knelt back, releasing Roger. 

"Was that so hard?" Freddie huffed, moving to swipe his hair from his eyes. 

"Fuck you." 

Freddie huffed a laugh. "Oh sweetheart, ask nicely and maybe I will." Roger threw his hands over his face. For a moment, Freddie allowed him to sulk before he grew bored. "Alright, darling, we need to talk this through. Of course Brian was going to lash out if you said that about her." 

Roger covered his face with a pillow and screamed loudly. Freddie reached up to pet at his hair soothingly. 

"Just because you're jealous--" 

The pillow smacked him in the face, forcing him to snatch it from Roger's hands and begin beating him over the head with each word. " _Just because you're jealous doesn't mean you get to be a dick!_ " 

"I know! I know it doesn't, I just--" Roger cut himself off with a wounded cry, bringing his hands up to defend his face from the pillow, and to hide from Freddie's disappointment. "It just sucked."

"I'm sure it did, but that doesn't mean you get to lash out at him like that! No wonder he said--what did he say?" 

Roger groaned. "He was like, 'What would you even know, considering you haven't been in a relationship since Tim, if you could call it that'." 

Freddie winced. "Okay, yeah, that was harsh. But what did you expect?"

There was a brief pause, but then Roger responded weakly. "That he would see that I was right, break up with her, and come home with me instead." 

"Well, that's just naive," Freddie blinked. Roger pulled the pillow off his face and glared. Before he could fight back, Freddie shoved the pillow back over his head to cut off any argument. "No, shut up, just listen to me. Brian was never going to dump her right then and there, and he was never going to accept you calling him out like that. Brian is the most competitive asshole I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. You basically dared him to ask her to marry him." 

Under the pillow, Roger went limp. For the split second, Freddie worried he had suffocated him to death, but when Roger let out a long groan, he realized he was just being a drama queen. 

"I get that you love him, and all, but you've got to be less of an asshole and more of a, a, Casanova! Woo him! Romanticize him! Make him realize that you love him more than life itself!" 

"I've tried," Roger whined, voice muffled. "I couldn't be more obvious than if I stripped naked and did the hula in front of him." 

"That's not a bad idea," Freddie mused, rocking back on his heels and letting the pillow go. Roger blinked up at him, frowning. 

"I'm not going to do that." 

"Your loss." 

"I just--I just don't get it! It's not fucking fair," Roger exclaimed, pulling at his hair. "It just fuckin' _sucks_."

Freddie reached down to pet at Roger's hair, untangling Roger's fingers and replacing them with his own. 

"I know, darling, I know it does. But these things happen, and Brian is dense. Just give him time--" 

"Why do I always have to fall for the straight guy?" 

At that, Freddie let out a bark of laughter as he stared down at him. "Oh, darling, you cannot be serious!" 

"Don't make fun of me," Roger whined pathetically. 

"Roger," Freddie sighed, changing tactics and leaning over to pressing his nose right up against Roger's, "I feel as though you are hung up on the wrong part." 

"Which part?" Roger said sullenly, crossing his eyes so as to look into Freddie's. "The part where Brian is straight and doesn't like me, or the part where I'm too immature to find real love." 

"First of all, Brian wears _clogs_. No self respecting straight man willingly sticks his feet in clogs. _And_ , I've seen the way he stares at your chest when you play shirtless." Freddie pulled back so he could roll over on top of Roger, smooshing his body on top of his like a too warm and too hairy blanket. Roger grunted out a little _oof_ , but shifted his weight so that Freddie could better fit atop him. With a hum, Freddie snuggled down enough for his chin to rest on Roger's sternum. "Secondly, darling, please, invest in a nose hair trimmer. Imagine I'm Brian, on my knees, sucking your soul out of your--"

"You might not want to finish that sentence," Roger wheezed, blushing furiously as he tried to angle his hips away from Freddie's. 

Freddie paused, closed his mouth, and then nodded. "That's fair. To be completely honest, darling, I'm not sure our friendship could survive us being in a _relationship_. I just simply couldn't be the top you'd need me to be." 

Roger threw his elbow over his eyes, whimpering. "I'm gonna die alone." 

Freddie allowed him to moan for a solid thirty seconds before he grew bored. Rolling off the couch, he ignored the grunt of pain Roger made as his elbow landed in the soft part of his gut. He crawled on his hands and knees over to the drink cart, fished out a new bottle of vodka from the back, and rose up only to put on his favorite doo-wop album. 

"I'm over this whole 'pity-me' schtick you have going for you right now," he declared, turning back to Roger's still-prone form. "And because you clearly refuse to listen to any logic, I am enacting Plan V." 

Roger peeked one startlingly blue eye from behind his elbow. "Do you mean Plan B?" 

"No, numpty, I do not. Plan V, for vodka. Now, be a good boy, and fetch us some glasses. We're gonna get tanked." 

 

 

 

A quarter of a bottle of vodka later, Roger and Freddie were attempting to swing dance around their living room. That is, if swing dance meant one person getting thrown from one side of the room to the other, and then was violently spun around. After one particularly violent spin that almost threw Roger into the wall, he yanked himself back from Freddie, begging for a break.

"Stop stop stop stop stop," Roger panted, stumbling away and bending over at the waist to rest his hands on his knees. "Bad idea, too much spinning." 

"Pussy," Freddie snapped, trying his hardest to hide the fact that he, too, was seconds away from vomiting. Roger flipped him off. 

They both stood as still as possible, attempting to gain their bearings, when Freddie pipped up. 

"I want pizza."

Roger turned to him with wonder in his eyes. "Pizza sounds _amazing!_ " 

 

 

 

Forty minutes later, Freddie and Roger lay sprawled on the floor, two pizza boxes opened next to them.

"Dude, I think we fucked up," Roger said after a moment, staring at the pizza. Freddie frowned. 

"How?"

"I think...I think we could have gotten one pepperoni pizza and one cheese, not just two half pepperoni and cheese."

"I don't get it."

"Look, we got _two_. So we really only needed to buy one of each." 

"But I only wanted _half_ a pepperoni!" 

"I know, but we could have just _eaten_ half!" 

Freddie stared down at the pizza, brow furrowed, before he shrugged. "Oh well, pizza's pizza." 

Roger nodded solemnly. "You miss 100% of the pizzas you don't eat." 

"Rog, that was poetic as _shit_." 

 

 

 

 

They drank the other half of the bottle once Freddie had switched sides of the do-wop album, singing along as Ronnie Spector crooned to her baby. Roger bopped along to the beat, half a crust of pizza hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

"I think I'm gonna just tell Brian I love him," he said around the mouthful dough. "And then if he doesn't love me back, 'm gonna fuck his best friend."

"Darling, I'm his best friend."

Roger paused, swallowed, and then shrugged. "Alright, then I'll fuck you." 

"I'll pass."

"Okay, then I'll just fuck _myself_." 

"Isn't that what you already do every night when you think I'm sleeping?" 

Roger rolled over onto his stomach and grinned wickedly. Freddie was disgusted to notice that he had flecks of pizza and oregano in between his teeth, and held off telling him out of principle. 

"Oh baby, you know I can't get off unless I have an audience," Roger smirked. "I just lay awake, picturing you in bed, your hairy chest--"

"Don't be jealous--"

"--and your big, giant--"

"Don't say it, you little shit--"

"TEETH!"

Freddie simply sighed before reaching over to, once again, painfully twist Roger's nipple until he shrieked out an apology. Accepting it with a generous offer of vodka, Freddie settle back against the couch, mindlessly picking at another slice of pizza. 

 

 

 

 

By two in the morning, Roger and Freddie were so firmly drunk, they could light their breath on fire from the alcoholic fumes. Freddie had curled up in the large armchair, holding Pepper in an almost death grip, his face pressed against her's. Roger was hanging upside down off the couch, drinking his vodka tonic out of a florescent purple crazy straw. 

"I should just like, tell him," Roger said into his cup. "I should be like 'Hey Brian, fuck you!'" 

"Think you mean, 'Hey Brian, I wanna fuck you'." 

"Oh, yeah, that." 

"I mean, Rog, y'should just fuckin' _do it_. Just be like, Brian, I _love_ you." 

Roger nodded. "M'gonna." He sat up with a gasp, lost his balance, and fell backwards, rolling over and spilling his drink everywhere. 

Freddie let out a forlorn cry; "My carpet!" 

"Fred, shush, m'gonna do it _now!_ I'm gonna go to his apartment and tell him that I wanna be the one who goes to Blackpool, not stupid _Mary_." 

"Stop being mean to Mary, she's done nothing to you," Freddie grunted. 

"Other than steal my man!" 

"He's not your man, he's _her's_ right now. And she's really nice--"

"Yes, but--"

"And really pretty--"

"Sure, I'll give her that--"

"And she smells really nice. Like freesias." 

"I'm gonna be completely honest with you, Fred, I've never smelled her but I believe you." 

" _Fuck_ Brian for dating her," Freddie snarled, suddenly angry. "He doesn't deserve her! Let's go get you your man!"

"That's the spirit!" 

Clumsily, the two of them stumbled to their feet, wobbling and struggling to make a straight line. Bobbing off each other, they wove their way first to the kitchen to each drink a giant glass of water, and then to bathroom once they realize just how _much_ they had drank. Freddie then realized Roger had pizza sauce on his shirt, which turned into a twenty minute fashion show of trying to make him look as pretty as possible to tempt Brian to love him. 

Once that was all taken care of, they bundled themselves up in jackets, slipped on their shoes, and stumbled out into the night. 

 

 

 

 

It took them a while to find Brian's apartment building, but once they did, they realized they faced a larger, and frankly, more troubling, obstacle. 

"Hey, Freddie, I don' have a key," Roger slurred, turning bleary eyes back towards Freddie. "How the _fuck_ m'I supposed t'get in?" 

"FUCK!" Freddie screamed into the night. "How the fuck don't we have keys?" 

"Freddie," Roger whined, elongating his name to an annoying degree. "What are we going to do?" 

They both slumped against the door of the building, thinking hard on their options. If Roger were to ring the doorbell, that would ruin the surprise, and wake Brian up. Neither of them had bobby pins--nor the knowledge of how to actually pick a lock with one. They were stuck. 

"We could always just call him and tell him to let us in," Freddie suggested. 

"Didn't bring my wallet," Roger said forlornly. With an exasperated sigh, Freddie dropped his head onto Roger's shoulder. Roger rested his head atop Freddie's, groaning in disappointment. "This sucks." 

"We shoulda thought this through," Freddie agreed. "There's _nothing_ romantic about this." 

"I dunno, Fred, isn't it the thought that counts?" 

"No! No, it is not the thought that counts!" Freddie yelped. "Because you and Brian are meant to be, and he is _meant_ to break up with Mary because she's too good for him, and you will get your man!" 

"How? The door's locked!" Roger gave said door a swift kick just to prove his point. "We can't get in." 

Freddie snapped his fingers, sitting upright. "Charlotte Montgomery!" 

Roger crinkled his nose. "Charlotte--you mean my old fling from sixth form, that Charlotte?" 

"Yes! The one who's bedroom you climbed into!" 

Roger perked up immensely. "Right! Her! I did!" 

"You did!"

"Yes, I did! I did that!"

"You _did!_ " 

"I'm gonna do it _again!_ " 

"That's the fucking spirit!" Freddie crowed, leaping to his feet and stumbling off the stairs. Roger attempted to do the same, but less gracefully. He collided with Freddie, sending them both barreling into the railing. It took them a moment to compose themselves before they tore around to the back of the building, sneaking through the side alley towards the tiny little back garden. 

"M'kay, so like, we just need to figure out which window's Brian's," Roger panted, squinting up at the different floors. "Think it's that one?" 

Freddie looked at where he was pointing. "Nope, no, that's the, the second floor. Brian's the _third_." 

Roger frowned. "The third? Charlotte only lived on the...the second? I've never, like, climbed that high. N'like, I used balconies." 

"Roger!" Freddie hissed, turning around to grip Roger by the shoulders and shake him. "This is Brian! You future husband, person....thing. Your _man!_ " 

"My man!"

"Your man! You have to grow some balls and just fuckin' _do_ it. For the sake of, like, true fuckin' love!" 

Roger nodded. "Okay, okay, I can do it. I can do it. Now, which one is his?" 

Freddie pressed a wet smacking kiss onto Roger's cheek while he looped an arm around his neck. Taking time, he carefully scanned the windows for the one that looked most like Brian's on the third floor. It was difficult, to be honest, considering the amount of vodka they had consumed, and half of his predictions and estimations were coming straight out of his ass. However, when he finally noticed the half-cracked window with the navy blue curtains gently blowing from the night air, he knew he had found the right one. Well, at least, he hoped. 

But now was not the time for hesitation, and he quickly pointed Roger in the right direction.

"There! That one, right there! See it?" 

Roger squinted, half blind from his own shit eyesight and the vodka.

"....No." 

"Ugh, Rog, okay, there, with the window and the curtain and all that?" 

"I...think so? Maybe?" 

"Okay, fuck, so here's what we're gonna do. You start climbing, and then I'll direct you, m'kay? That way, you get to the right window!" Freddie announced with a clap of his hands. Roger nodded in agreement. "You'll see, it'll be just like rock climbing." 

Roger paused in the middle of shaking out his hands so has to squint in confusion over at Freddie. "You've gone rock climbing?" 

Freddie let out a bark of laughter. "Oh hell no! Never, do you see this hands? Do they _look_ like the hands of someone who's gone _rock climbing_?" 

With a tilt of his head, Roger shrugged, accepting his answer. "That's fair. Alright, m'kay, m'gonna do it. M'gonna climb into Brian's apartment and be like, 'Brian, I'd be a great fucking boyfriend--'"

"--Not to mention great at _fucking_."

"Aw, thank you, Freddie. 'I'd be a great fuckin' boyfriend, _and_ I'm great at fucking. So fucking date me, asshole'!" 

He looked to Freddie for validation. 

"That was beautiful mate, but I think we could be more romantic, y'know?" Freddie suggested. "Maybe, like, I dunno, serenade him?" 

Roger pulled a face. "With what?" 

"I dunno! Something _romantic!_ Isn't that, like, the whole purpose of this? Dig down deep, down from here." Freddie patted at Roger's lower belly, staring deep into Roger's eyes. It took Roger a moment to uncross his eyes and focus on what Freddie was suggesting. 

"So like, a love song?" he asked, reaching up to scratch under his chin. "I can do that, yeah, fu'sure. A love song. For Brian." 

"Do that, then tell him you're great in bed. Then actually _take_ him to bed, so I can tell Mary and then ask her out for drinks," Freddie nodded. 

"Fred, can we focus on me, and not your crush on Mary?" Roger asked. "I get it, she smells like roses--"

"Freesias!" 

"Whatever, but like, m'dude, I'm about to climb up into Brian's window and if he decides he doesn't actually like me, he could just like, punt me back out the window. I could, like, die. This could be the last time you _see_ me." 

Freddie scoffed, twitching his hand like he was going to twist Roger's nipple again. Roger yelped and flinched in preparation. The hand, however, never came to his chest. Instead, Freddie's warm palm rested onto his cheek as he leaned in to stare deep into Roger's eyes. "Don't be such a fuckin' drama queen, darling. I'd see you at your funeral. After all, who's going to make sure you look good?" 

Roger scowled. "Thanks, Fred, love ya, too." 

Freddie beamed as he released Roger's cheek so as to land a rather harsh smack straight on his bum. "Now, enough chit chat! Let's go get your man!"

 

 

 

Roger scrambled over to the brick wall, staring up at towards what could only be Brian's room. Unlike the first time he had scaled the walls of Charlotte Montgomery's house, there was no balcony, nor was there a ladder he could steal from her parent's garage. Because, if Roger were going to be one hundred percent honest with himself in that moment, he might have embellished the story quite a bit. He hadn't scaled the wall using nothing more than a drain pipe and her balcony, like he had always led them to believe; she had left the garage door unlocked so he could sneak in and take her father's ladder so as to make the ascent all the more easy. But there's no glory in using a _ladder_. After all, _Romeo_ certainly didn't need one when he was risking life and limb to get down and dirty with Juliet. 

And Roger was way better than that little shit, anyways. 

So with a deep breath and a teeny-tiny prayer that this wouldn't be how he would die (Roger was putting his money down on either dying in bed surrounded by his grandchildren and Brian, or in some spectacular event that would be recorded for the rest of history and memorialized by a motherfuckin' _statue_ ), he shook out his muscles, cracked his neck, and took a running start towards the wall. With an ungainly leap, he launched himself onto the ivy covered trellis, using it to slowly, but surely, make his way up past the first floor and closer to the second.

"You got this, Rog!" Freddie bellowed, bending back with the force of his yell as he cupped his hands around his mouth. Roger turned to flash him a thumbs up, and almost fell off the wall. He scrambled back for purchase, clinging to the trellis with numb fingers. 

Carefully, he scaled up further, muttering under his breath, "Hand, hand, foot, foot. Hand, hand...erm, foot...foot." 

It was hard work, climbing up a wall. The vodka certainly wasn't helping. Every single inch felt like a mile, and after about five minutes of climbing, he was sweaty, and a little shaky. But nevertheless, he continued. There was going to be _nothing_ getting in his way of telling Brian that to not date him would be a mistake. And, a tiny part of his brain supplied, he was getting to be way too high up to get down safely, so at this point, it was quite literally do or die. Or, y'know, break-all-the-bones-in-his-body. 

By the time he got to the second floor, the full effect of what he was doing seemed to smack him in the face, and he had a bit of a moment of panic, clinging to the second story window of Brian's downstair's neighbor. 

"Roger! What's going on?" Freddie shouted from down below. Roger clenched his eyes tight and fought hard with the instinctual urge to look down so as to respond. 

"Taking a break!" he yelled back, still closing his eyes. Muttering to himself, he tried to psych himself back up. "Okay, Roger, you got this. Just keep going. You'll probably get a blowjob out of this. Or a boyfriend. Or both! Both would be nice. Yeah, ha, both." 

"You got this, blondie! I believe in you!" Freddie shouted. 

"Thanks!" Roger responded shakily, still frozen on the wall. He gave himself thirty more seconds to breathe before he slowly continued his ascent.

When he finally reached the third floor, it took him a bit of finagling to orient himself in a way that he could easily climb through the window. He had to stand on the overhang of the second floor's window just to be able to balance long enough to open Brian's window. After that, with a grunt and a heave, Roger managed to swing one leg over the windowsill and into the room. Twisting back down to flash Freddie a thumbs up, he gave himself a quick second to catch his breath. 

"Hell yeah Rog, _that's_ what I'm talking about!" Freddie cheered from below, jumping up and down in excitement. 

Roger raised his arms in celebration before turning back to the room. With a deep breath, he prepared himself to start his serenade. He had given it a bit of thought while climbing, and well, if he had to say so himself, it was pretty fucking cute. Adorable, really. 

"Today, I met the Brian--"

 

The light turned on, suddenly, blinding Roger. 

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my bathroom?" a woman shrieked. 

Roger startled and would have fallen backwards out the window if it weren't for his leg already being hooked over the windowsill. He squinted in the brightness, blearily making out an older woman in her late sixties staring at him in horror from the doorway, clutching a cricket bat in both hands and looking ready to cave his skull in. She as right, as well, this was not a bedroom, but rather, a nice looking bathroom with a tad too much tchotchke for Roger's taste. Honestly, lace toilet paper covers? 

"You're not Brian," Roger said stupidly. "This...this is not Brian's apartment." 

The woman lowered the bat slightly, but maintained her suspicious glare. 

"No, it is not. Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"'m looking for Brian," Roger slurred. "'m gonna tell him that m'sorry, and I love him. Also, that I could totally be boyfriend material." He blinked heavily again before turning back towards the window. "Freddie!" he bellowed.

Below him, Freddie raised his face towards him and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Yeah, Rog?" 

"You were wrong! It's not Brian's apartment!" he shouted back. Freddie shrugged. 

"Are they gonna call the cops?" 

Roger turned towards the woman. "I dunno. Are ya gonna call the cops?"

The woman looked entirely unimpressed. "I should. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." 

Roger scrunched up his face in thought, and shrugged. "That's fair. But like, I'm gonna be totally honest with you. Would a thief be this drunk? And like, m'mate is down there for me. He's my moral support. Cuz I've never done this before." He paused. "That's a lie. I did this before. Twice, okay, I did it twice. Not rob someone! Pull a Romeo. But like, that was just for sex. This is true love. Cuz I do. Love him."

The woman's scowl deepened, and Roger realized that it probably wasn't the good reason she was looking for. Roger nodded. He turned back to the window. "Oi! Freddie! She said she should!" 

"Okay, Rog, I'm gonna leave now," Freddie shouted. "Good luck with Brian! And the police!" 

"Kay, thanks, love you!" 

He watched as Freddie scampered from the backyard, fleeing without a second glance. He sighed heavily before turning back to the woman. 

"Alrighty," he said. "So, like, I'm not gonna rob you. I just made a mistake. I thought this was Brian's apartment--d'ya know him? Tall, really _really_ curly hair, kinda a giant nerd? Plays guitar all the time." 

The woman hesitantly nodded. "I do. He's my neighbor." 

Roger's face lit up. "Your _neighbor_? God, I was so close! Fuck." Noticing her scandalized expression, he slapped one hand over his mouth and apologized. "I just...I'm tryin' t'get to his apar'ment. That's all." 

The woman eyed him suspiciously. "What are you going to do? Because he's a nice boy, and I don't want you hurting him." 

Roger shook his head frantically, which in hindsight wasn't the smartest idea when he was that pissed and hanging precariously out a third-story window. The woman let out a shriek when he wobbled backwards and grabbed him by the shirt lapels so as to drag him onto her linoleum floor, where he lay sprawled. 

"Cheers, luv," he slurred, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile. Gauging by her expression, it probably looked more maniacal than charming. "No, so, like, I love him. M'gonna ask him to like, be my forever boy. Friend. Friend-boy, thing, like, yeah." He shrugged. "He's my Brian, y'know?" 

"I see." 

"And he thinks I'm not a good boyfriend," Roger continued mournfully. "Which is bullshit--sorry--but it is. Cuz I'm romantic! I'm totally pulling a Romeo thing right now. 'Cept this isn't his bathroom, it's yours. What's your name?" 

"Louisa." 

"Louisa!" Roger crowed, throwing his hands in the air. "Louisa, this is _your_ bathroom!" 

Louisa was _entirely_ unimpressed. "Alright, I'm going to ask you to leave now." 

Roger nodded. "That's fair. M'kay. M'gonna go now. Back out the window." 

As he made for the window, Louisa let out a squawk of terror and yanked on the back of his shirt, forcing him to stay in place. "No!"

"Nah, nah, s'all good, Louisa, I've already done this! I'll just slide right out and into his room, and I'll get out of your hair, m'kay? No worries," he grinned. 

"I cannot, with good conscious, allow you to climb back out that window in this state." 

Roger frowned. "Ma'am, with all honesty, I'm going to get into his room. I _need_ too. Otherwise, he'll never know that I love him, n'he'll always think m'no good. Which is really really _really_ unfair, cuz I'm a great boyfriend." 

"I'm sure."

"No, no, really! M'kay, so like, I can't cook, right? And m'not super good at cleanin', but I never, ever, ever, forget birthdays. And I like to buy flowers for people. Pretty ones. And I am very good in bed, ma'am. But that's secret. Cuz...yeah," Roger nodded. "So if you could just let me go, I'll leave. Ma'am." 

"If I let you out of that window like this, you're going to fall to your death," Louisa said, her hands on her hips as she scowled. "Let me get you some toast and a glass of water, alright? Maybe that will sober you up." 

"I _highly_ doubt that, ma'am," Roger beamed. "But sure, lead the way!" 

 

Louisa had a lovely apartment, just the sort of place one would imagine a middle aged woman living. She had multiple paintings on the walls, mixed along with portraits of what Roger could only assume was her family. She led him, weaving and stumbling, down the hallway and through the living room into a cheery daffodil yellow kitchen. There, she carefully filled a crystal glass with icy water from the tap, which she pressed into his hand after firmly plopping him down on a wicker based seat. 

"Cheers," Roger nodded before downing the whole glass in one full swig. Louisa watched him with an eagle eye as she took the glass back, filled it again, and pressed it back into his hand. 

"Biscuit?" she asked. Roger blinked, but nodded. She pulled an old tin down from above her fridge and thrust two Jammie Dodgers into his hands. "Eat both of those."

"M'kay," he shrugged before shoving one whole into his mouth. Louisa looked on with slight disgust. 

"Now, you're sure that Brian won't be upset with you breaking into his apartment at three in the morning?" Louisa demanded to know, giving him another cookie. 

Roger swallowed thickly. "To be completely honest," he said around the mouthful of jam and biscuit, "it could go either way. My mate Freddie, the one who just left? Yeah, he like, thinks there's _no way_ Brian is straight because he wears clogs. Also, apparently, I have a very distracting bum, ma'am." 

Louisa took the time to look at said appendage before quirking an eyebrow. "Freddie is correct." 

Roger preened. " _Thank_ you! But yeah, he could, like, totally kick me back out the window. Or he could let me _finally_ show him how the Tongue Thing works, in which case, we'll be married in the morning." 

Noticing her confused expression, Roger took another swig of water before launching into his long practiced lecture on how to give the best blowjob of any recipient's life, all thanks to a little trick with the tongue. It took him ten minutes. 

When he was finished, he was pleased to note that Louisa was blushing ever so slightly, and had taken the time to grab her own glass of ice water in the middle of the whole speech. 

"And _that_ , Louisa, is why Brian won't be upset with me, if everything goes according to plan," he finished with a tiny bow.

"I see," Louisa said in a rather faint voice. "Who could argue with that sort of logic?"

Roger shrugged and ate another biscuit. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two before Roger slapped his hands on his thighs and struggled to his feet. 

"Louisa, it's been an _absolute_ pleasure, but I hafta go woo my friend-boy." 

"I can't say I'll ever forget this night, or you, Roger," Louisa said sincerely as she took his glass to the sink and recovered the biscuit tin. 

"I have that affect on women," Roger agreed. 

As Louisa led him back towards the bathroom, watching apprehensively as Roger precariously began to climb back out the window towards the next window to his left. He was halfway out when Louisa reached out to grab the back of his shirt once more. 

"Roger, wait!" He popped his head back out, turning towards her. She stuck her hands back on her hips, frowning at him. "When all this is said and done, I expect you back over for dinner this Sunday for my famous roast. Now, whether or not you bring Brian your friend-boy is up to you, or if you want to bring that Freddie chap who was hanging down below my window, but I expect you here at six p.m. sharp, do you understand me?" 

Roger beamed brightly. "Loud and clear, ma'am," he grinned before bounding over to hug her, rather like an over enthusiastic golden retriever. She accepted the hug with a firm pat on the back before pulling away. 

"Now, go wake that boy up and show him what a good boyfriend you can be!" 

With a sharp salute and another bright smile, Roger fed himself back out the window and stretched his legs out as far as they could go, using them to balance recklessly on the windowsill of what Louisa helpfully supplied as Brian's bathroom window. She watched him as he made his way towards Brian's bedroom, and only brought her head back in once she saw that he was outside the right one. 

He took a deep breath, mentally prepared himself, and then slowly began jimmying the window open. It took a bit, seeing as Brian had closed it all the way, but Roger hadn't come all this way to be defeated by a sticky window frame. In no time at all, he had the window open just enough for his hands to fit through, and then, with a bit more of a push and shove, one leg. 

One leg, which, of course, kicked straight into the pile of textbooks Brian had left precariously placed next to the edge of the desk. They fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed to echo in the dark of the night. Roger cursed lowly, and wobbled in his attempt to get his head through the window. He could hear Brian stirring in his bed, which was definitely not part of the plan. Brian wasn't supposed to wake up until he was all the way through, not hanging half out like some sort of madman. 

And fuck, he hadn't even started the serenade! 

"Today I met, the Brian I'm gonna marry," Roger huffed, his voice strained due to the effort of not only climbing up to his window but also trying to slide his body through a way too small crack in the window. "He's all-- _fuck_ \--I wanted all my life, and even more!" 

"Wassat? Wha's--who's there?" Brian yelped from somewhere in the room. Roger couldn't see where, exactly, seeing as he was now hanging half in and half out the window, with his head trapped somewhere by his knees and his right leg still dangling outside. " _Roger_?!" 

"You smiled at me and the music started playing!" Roger continued, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric of his jeans. "Here comes the bride--groom?--when you walked through the door!" 

Despite his best efforts, it did not appear to be as romantic as he had originally hoped. 

"Oh my god, Roger! What in the hell are you doing?" Brian shouted. There was the sound of feet falling heavily to the floor before large, warm hands immediately wrapped around his shoulders and began pulling him inside. 

"Being--fucking--romantic--" Roger grunted, attempting to look up from his own knees so he could try to woo Brian with his eyes, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon, considering how contorted he was. In place of batting his baby blues, Roger decided to continue the song. "Today I met, the Brian I'm gonna marry, the Brian who's life and dreams and... _something_ , _something_ share! The Brian whose on my hand a band of gold--"

"Jesus Christ, Rog, stop your caterwauling before you wake my neighbors," Brian yelped, still heaving away at his arms. Brian was much stronger than Roger gave him credit for; in no time, he had already freed his torso and now all that was left was his leg. 

"Who, Louisa? We're already bros, she pointed out which room was yours," said Roger. Brian dropped his arms unceremoniously. Letting go of Roger meant he overbalanced, forcing him to tumble ass over teakettle out of the window and onto the floor at Brian's feet. 

"Louisa? You mean _Mrs. McIntyre?"_

"Ouch," said Roger. 

Brian startled and immediately began apologizing as he struggled to help Roger up to his feet. 

"Young man! What did you do to poor Roger?" Louisa shouted out the window. Brian blanched and stuck his head out to look at her. 

"Hi Mrs. McIntyre," he stammered. "I am so, so, sorry for any disturbance--"

"Is Roger alright?" 

"Fit as a fiddle Louisa, don't you worry!" Roger bellowed back from his position on the floor. 

"Roger!" Brian hissed, aiming a kick at his leg. He looked back out the window. "Really, Mrs. McIntyre, so sorry, I promise it won't happen again! Please, have a lovely rest of your--oh, she's shut the window." 

"She's great," Roger smiled. 

"Roger, what the fuck are you doing, climbing through my window at two o'clock in the morning?"

"First of all, it's three. And secondly, I already told you! I'm showing you I can be _romantic_." 

He watched fondly as Brian pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. _He has such a lovely nose_ , he thought. 

"Is that what all this is about? You trying to get the final word? Then fine, Roger, you can be romantic. Are you happy now?" Brian stepped over him and made his way over to his bedroom door, which he threw open. "Point proven. Please leave so I can get back to sleep." 

At that, Roger struggled to his feet, using the edge of the desk to support him. "Nope, not leaving, I've got stuff I wanna say to you." 

"What, Roger?" 

He took a deep breath. "Okay, here goes everything." 

Brian stared at him. _He has such lovely eyes_ , Roger thought to himself. _So lovely_. 

"Are...are you going to say something?" 

"Oh! Fuck, right yes. Okay. Right. Hey Brian May; fuck you!" 

There was a brief moment of silence before Brian broke it with a heavy sigh. "That was it? You climbed up three stories, broke into my house, disturbed my neighbors and messed up my room all so you could tell me to go fuck myself?" 

Roger scowled. "No! That's just the first part. Fuck you for thinking I wouldn't make a good boyfriend, because I'm a fuckin' great boyfriend, and I'm romantic as _shit_ and, on top of all that, I am damn fine good in bed!" 

"Roger--"

"No, stop, I'm not done! I've watched you date all those other fuckin' people who aren't good for you or even, like, _right_ for you, and I've just been sitting here--okay, well, not here, but you get the point!--just waiting for you to get off your really nice ass and see that I'm the one you should be taking to Blackpool, not Mary fuckin' Austin!" Roger's chest was heaving with the effort of his exclamation. A tiny bit of himself was pleased to see Brian looking rather gobsmacked at his confession. However, his joy was short lived as Brian's expression melted into one of pity. 

"Oh, Roger, if you wanted to go to Blackpool, all you had to do was say something. I'm sure we can arrange a get away, or something, see if Freddie wants to come as well. We can make it a, a, band excursion, or something! See if there are any gigs to be booked there." 

Roger blinked heavily before groaning loudly in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "Jesus, Brian, how can you be _so_ smart yet _so_ stupid!" 

The scowl came back to darken Brian's face as he crossed back over to Roger. "Don't be an asshole!" 

Roger squinted up at him, setting his jaw and planting his feet. "I mean, look at you! You're wearing matching pajamas! Who the hell even does that?" 

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Brian cried, jaw dropped as he crossed the room over to him in a huff. "Now, wait a minute, you just burst in here in the middle of the night and start insulting me! Who do you think you are--"

"Holy shit, do your socks match? Who owns _plaid socks?_ Are you even real?" 

"Roger, you're ten seconds away from me throwing you that out the window if you don't shut the hell up--"

"I cannot believe that out of every single person in the world I fell in love with the only asshole that matches their _socks_ to their _pajamas!_ "

"My feet get cold, alright? I have cold feet, Roger, what do you want me to say?" 

"I dunno, that you're not an idiot? That you _don't_ want to take Mary to Blackpool?" 

Brian threw his arms open wide, gesturing to the room. "What the hell does Mary have to do with you climbing through my window?" 

"This!" Roger howled, reaching up to grab Brian by the lapels of his pajama shirt so as to drag him down so he could kiss the stupid out of him. Brian, evidently startled, flailing his arms around as though he had no idea what to do with them. Roger, growing impatient, moved so he could instead tangle his hands into Brian's curls while pressing the whole length of his body up against his. It took Brian a second to realize that it was, indeed happening, before he sighed into the kiss and allowed Roger to suck his bottom lip into his mouth. 

Roger pressed everything he had into the kiss, everything from his frustration of Brian not seeing him as someone worth being with to the actual deep-seated and rather heady passion he had felt for the oblivious man from the moment he realized that Brian was someone worth pursuing. He traced his pent-up sexual frustration into the way he traced Brian's cupid's bow with the tip of his tongue. He expressed his anger at being overlooked with the grind of his hips against the curve of Brian's, and tangled his want with his fingers into the nape of Brian's neck. He put every little bit of passion and feeling into the kiss, letting Brian know _exactly_ what it all had to do with him crawling through the window, and when he was done, he released Brian with a wet little _pop_ and a triumphant, _"Ha!"_

Brian let himself fall back onto his bed with a stunned looked on his face like he had run into a glass door. Roger stumbled back from him, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand while he gasped for breath. 

"See?" he exclaimed. "You're so stupid, you had no idea we could have been doing _that_ for _years!_ "

"Holy shit," Brian murmured. He looked like his entire brain was rewiring itself, trying to figure out where this new development fit in in between dwarf planets, guitar chords, and how to match your socks to your pajamas. Roger decided to take pity on him after he continued to just gape up at him like a beached fish. 

"Brian May," Roger declared. "If you decide that you want to be my forever friend-boy--thing--then I promise, your dick will be the only dick I touch until the day I die. I will make sure you never go to bed without a mind altering orgasm. I will no longer tease you for your stupid clogs--"

"Hey."

"--or for your weird obsession with putting a guitar solo in every single song. I will be there for you no matter what, even if you decided to go to bed every night with socks on. Hell, even if you decide to have sex while wearing socks! I will looks past all of that because I may have decided that you're the only one for me. Forever. For good. So dump Mary and take me to Blackpool instead, okay? Because I don't think I'll ever be able to climb up your wall again, that was actually really difficult. And there was a like, a solid thirty seconds where I thought I was gonna die, and then--"

"Roger?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and come back here and kiss me." 

The grin that spread across Roger's face was bright enough to power the whole of London. With a little cheer, he threw himself at Brian, straddling his lap and licking straight back into his mouth, sighing happily as Brian's arms came to wrap around him, pulling him all the more closer. 

"I guess I'm gonna have to take you to Blackpool," Brian murmured in between kissing the daylights out of Roger. 

"Guess so," Roger agreed before reaching for the buttons on his pajamas. "Now, less talking, more stripping." 

 

 

The next morning, Brian was rudely awakened by the deafening jangle of his telephone. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him as he blinked into the morning light, his eyes gritty from too little sleep. Sleepily, he made to move off the bed, but was stopped by the death grip currently latched to his middle. For a moment, he had forgotten all of the previous night's events, writing them off as a dream. But no, it had actually happened, as evidenced by Roger half naked, warm and cuddly in his bed, his mouth slack open with sleep and hair draped across his face. Brian took the briefest of moments to brush a few sandy locks from his face and admire his boyfriend--no, _friend-boy's_ \--face before he worked himself free from their entanglement, grabbing his dressing robe off the back of the door on his way to the telephone. 

He stretched languidly as he grabbed for the receiver, enjoying that post-cuddle movement after spending half a night cramped and curled up around another sleeping body, no matter how deliciously content he had been while asleep. 

"Hello?" he yawned, reaching down to scratch at the waistline above his pajama pants. 

" _Brian! Thank god, I'm so worried! I, uh, I think Roger got arrested! He never came home last night and he may and or may not have broken into someone's apartment in your building. It was all his idea, I tried to talk him out of it, but you know how he is, and I just, I think he's been arrested and I don't even know the first thing about posting bail and--_ "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Freddie, calm down," Brian chuckled. "Roger did not get arrested, he's here with me, all in one piece. No police officers in sight." 

" _Oh, thank god! I was so worried, you have no idea--wait. He's still with you? Brian, you sly dog!_ " Brian could hear the grin in Freddie's voice. 

"Yes, Roger is still here. In fact, I would very much like to head back to bed, alright? So if you could--"

_"Get it, Brian! Ask him to show you the Tongue--"_

Brian cut him off. "Nope, nope, absolutely not. Goodbye, Freddie, we'll speak later." 

With that he, dropped the phone back into the cradle. He was halfway back to his bedroom--and Roger--when he realized he still had one more loose end to wrap up. Turning back to the phone, he made a mental note to cancel any and all lunch plans he might have made.

 

 

Roger woke slowly, coming aware to consciousness with the familiar pounding of a hangover and dry mouth of too much vodka. He groaned, rolling over in bed so as to bury his face deeper into the pillow, avoiding as much sunlight as possible. 

"Mornin', sleepy head," someone teased from above him. Roger turned to peak one eye out from the edge of the pillow, staring blearily up at Brian. 

"That mug better be for me," Roger grumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

"That depends," Brian said. "I really only make coffee for my boyfriends. Is that what you are?" 

Roger woke fully at that. Lifting his head, he let his grin spread. "That depends. Milk and sugar in there?" 

"Just as you like it." 

"Then yes, I am your boyfriend," Roger declared as he reached for the mug with impatient fingers. Brian held it just out his grasp, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, prompting Roger to scooch over closer. 

"Boyfriend tax," Brian teased as he held the mug out of reach. "One kiss in exchange for coffee." 

Someone fetch Roger his smelling salts, because he was seconds away from fainting from sheer cuteness overload. 

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. May," Roger huffed as he pulled himself up onto his knees so they were face to face. "But I guess I'll pay your price." 

It was even better this time around, kissing Brian in the morning when he was still drowsy from sleep and no longer drunk. It was enough for him to forget his persisting headache and the aching cramp in his arms and legs. Instead, all he could focus on was the taste of mint and coffee in Brian's mouth; the underlying scent of his coconut conditioner; the feel of Brian's hand moving from his waist to the curve above his bum teasingly.

Brian sighed into the kiss before leaning back, blinking heavily while he deposited Roger's mug into his hands. Roger grumbled at his kiss being cut short, but accepted the coffee gratefully. 

"As wonderful as this was," Brian said carefully, running his fingers through Roger's tangled hair. Roger practically purred, letting his eyes close in pleasure as he leaned into it. "I have to go soon, and you have to go assure Freddie you weren't arrested last night." 

Roger pouted, "Where do you have to go so early in the morning?" 

"It's no longer morning." Brian huffed out a laughed as he made to get dressed, calmly tossing Roger's clothing onto the bed. "And I'm meeting Mary for lunch." 

It felt as though someone had dumped a glass of ice water over his head. With a sputter, Roger choked on the mouthful of coffee he had taken, dread filling up his chest like a lead balloon. After all that, after everything he said and all that he had done, Brian was still going back to Mary? Brian must have noticed the look on Roger's face, as he immediately made to grab at his hand. 

"Not like that, Roger. I just need to let her know that I won't be able to take her to Blackpool, or anywhere else, for that matter. After all, it would be _completely_ inappropriate to do so, considering I have a boyfriend now, hmm?" Brian rubbed the back of Roger's knuckles with the pad of his thumb, ignoring Roger's scowl and the flush in his cheeks. 

"Next time lead with that, asshole!" 

Brian chuckled before pulling Roger back into another toe curling kiss. "Promise, dear. Now, please get dressed; you know how I feel about being tardy." 

"I like you anyways," Roger teased cheekily, enjoying the faint blush that appeared on Brian's cheeks. As far as Roger was concerned, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he saw as much of that blush as possible, until the day he died, and he told him so. 

 

 

 

"So you see, Mary, that's why I'm afraid it's not going to work out between us," Brian finished, raising his voice to be heard over the Irish band in the corner playing _The Rattling Bog_ too loud and a tad off key. Mary nodded at him from across the too sticky table, her eyes sharp in the dim lighting. For the briefest of moments, Brian was thankful that he had, once again, chosen the Crow's Nest as his go to place to let down his dates gently. Despite her small frame, Mary looked like the kind of girl to have the hidden strength needed to unbolt the table so as to kill him with it. 

"I see," Mary said. He sighed, letting out all the tension he didn't realize he had been holding throughout their entire lunch. He reached for his lager, allowing himself a generous drink in celebration of another break-up done right. What he was not expecting, however, was for Mary to grin wickedly and reach for her own beer. "You finally realized yesterday was a date, huh?" 

Brian choked and sputtered out his beer, gratefully accepting the napkins Mary threw his way. Moping up the mess on his chin, he stared at her in confusion. 

"Oh, come off it, Brian! Roger has been inviting you on dates for as long as I've known you! At this point, it was, frankly, rather sad that you didn't pick up on it. I was in the bathroom for _twenty_ minutes hoping that when I'd come out you'd have realized what he was trying to do. Which, back track, terrible idea in inviting me. Who even does that, invites a girl to another date? But all that aside, you _had_ to have known how he felt." She stared at him, sizing him up with a critical eye. "Didn't you?" 

On principle, Brian refused to answer. 

Mary sighed pitifully as she reached out to pat the back of his hand in a rather condescending manner. "Well, that's all besides the point, now, anyways. Thank god for Roger's impatience; let's hope that doesn't reflect itself in the bedroom, am I right?" 

Brian steadfastly refused to high five her, and she dropped her hand in disappointment with a shrug. 

"I hope you know that I truly wish you the best," Brian said woodenly, powering through the rest of his usual break up speech. "And if there's anything I can ever do for you--"

"Actually," Mary interrupted as she leaned forward to rest her chin on her hands, eyeing him carefully. "There is. Any chance you know if Freddie's single?"

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have been waiting so patiently for me to finally produce this, thank you so much! I appreciate it, as this was truly a labor of love. And wine. Lots and lots of wine. 
> 
> Title from _(Will You Still Love Me) Tomorrow_ by The Shirelles. The song Roger sings is _(Today I Met) The Boy I'm Going To Marry _by Darlene Love, lyrical improvements by Roger Taylor__
> 
>    
> Loved it? Hated it? Want to scream about the love of my life John Richard Deacon? Come find me on tumblr as talkingismylifewrites where I post snippets that never made the cut as well as pictures of my favorite idiots in love.  
>  
> 
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> (also i feel like it goes without saying but please do not attempt at home. or do, just don't blame me)  
> 


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